


Color of Aged Parchment

by Oceanbreeze7



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Cage Trauma, Depowered Lucifer, Episode: s11e21 All In The Family, Episode: s11e22 We Happy Few, Fallen Angels, Hurt Lucifer, Lucifer Needs a Hug, Lucifer in the Bunker, Lucifer's Cage, Men of Letters Bunker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wingfic, fallen angels have broken wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8458756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7
Summary: Chuck bound Lucifer's Grace to prevent the Archangel from injuring Sam and Dean once being rescued from Amara.It's a shame that binding Grace gives Angels more Human traits.Lucifer the Archangel could deal with the trauma of the Cage with no problem.
Lucifer the Bound is having more trouble.
 
Or: Lucifer is experiencing more human emotions and can't help the nightmares and general hysteria of broken wings, Amara's torture, and the darkness of his Cage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I binge watched season 11 just because I heard that Lucifer was back. I finished the season in one night, and here is my really bad attempt at writing something because honestly, I like Lucifer too much for this.

When his wounds were healed and the bruises of his Grace were smoothed, something more snapped into being. 

He snarled, the Morningstar thrashed in fury against the restraints not yet relinquished. 

He ached to feel the air freeze, to hear the crackling noises of his power snapping through the ozone.

His father smiled, aware of the boundaries his exhaustion created.

He ( _ Chuck,  _ as he prefered) placed a case of alcohol on the nearest table, peering up and holding the beverages as a peace offering.

Lucifer felt his Grace thrum angrily in his ears, overwhelming his senses with musical pulses of  _ how could he- _

Lucifer didn’t  _ understand. _

He swept away with the inaudible rattling of his wings and the faint whispers of Castiel against his mind.

  
  


_ ‘Why do you love these humans?’ _

He felt the subtle touch of foreign Grace with his own. Weakened, pained and scared from trials of his own existence.

_ “Why?” _

_ ‘They are flawed, disgusting creatures.’ _

_ “They are flawed, but they are Father’s creation.” _

Lucifer twitched, feeling the rising surge of anger at his younger brother’s words.  _ ‘You see how he ignores them! He doesn’t care for them! He abandoned us!’ _

_ “He left for his reasons-” _

_ ‘His reason was selfish indulgent! He replaced our brothers and sisters with these vile-’ _

_ “He taught us to love his creations, and I lament that you cannot.” _

Castiel pulled away, sinking into the quiet depths which offered solitude for his vessel.

Lucifer wished he could feel beyond the bitter pang Castiel had drawn from him.

  
  


Lucifer did not need sleep. Angels were beyond the primitive need for periodic rest. He couldn’t comprehend why his mind was clouded, fogging with fluffy down and leading him to near collapse.

In the morning when the Winchester’s bunker was silent except the ticking of an unseen clock, Lucifer collapsed with phantom pains and icy claws through his chest.

He awoke past his creation’s rise, sunshine illuminating through windowpanes. 

He blinked groggily, rising slowly with uncomfortable weight against his spine, pulling on his shoulders.

Castiel awoke, nudging against his consciousness with muted confusion and curiosity. Lucifer soothed the distressed angel, his Grace muffling the sounds outside the vessel.

Lucifer heard the scraping noise of broken feathers and rattling bone.

  
  


“You did something,” Lucifer snarled, avoiding all pretense of being civil.

His father-  _ Chuck,  _ glanced up with infuriatingly somber eyes. His face was  _ always  _ so sad for his  _ poor abandoned- _

“Whoa whoa,” Dean rose, hands held in the universally accepted symbol for peace. Samuel- the proximity making his Grace  _ burn,  _ gently set his book on the table restraining the instinctive flinch.

“How about we talk this out,” Dean started, swallowing anxiously as his human senses could detect the boiling rath of an Archangel.

“I have  _ nothing  _ to  _ discuss,”  _ Lucifer spat, voice cold and cracking like frozen ice, “You bound my Grace-”

“As a precaution,” Chuck added, blinking without concern to the growing tension, “I didn’t want you to hurt Sam or Dean-”

“So you’re  _ controlling me?”  _ Lucifer barely restrained the high ringing shriek of his true voice, “Confining me to  _ this?” _

His father’s face hardened, a small frown of disappointment which stirred emotions Lucifer didn’t know he had.

“I confined your Grace to a physical field,” Chuck nodded to Dean, “A more human perspective.”

“I am  _ not  _ a savage-”

“Wait wait, let me make sure I have this,” Dean interrupted, jolting in anticipation of Lucifer’s wrath. When nothing happened, he continued with more certainty, “ _ You’re  _ throwing a fit, because daddy bound your angel mojo-”

_ “That’s not the point!”  _ Lucifer shrieked, his voice rising to a painful pitch yet failed to reach angelic proportions. 

Why did they not comprehend? Why were they not as  _ concerned  _ as this-

Lucifer had expected Sam to at least  _ relate,  _ even Castiel, his own  _ brother _ , was unable to comprehend.

Lucifer’s jaw was twitching and his throat was heavy with something disgustingly  _ human. _

He turned sharply, a chair nearby clattering to the ground as something impossible hit the metal and knocked it down.

Lucifer gasped audibly, nearly keeling at the sharp flare of hollow pain through his spine and collar bone.

“Lucifer-” His father started, rising and reaching outwards with one arm. Outstretched and offering like his touch to Adam millennia ago.

Lucifer had been left alone; he was not desiring the scalding touch of someone he had once longed for.

Dean swore in surprise, jumping away from the table in alarm. Samuel had retrieved a gun in reflex to combat the supernatural. The chair was stationary on the floor, crumpled with an unnatural dent along its metal back.

“What the-” Dean spluttered, glancing at Lucifer with obvious surprise.

“Your wing,” Chuck asked, hand still outstretched in offering, “Allow me, my son, and I-”

Lucifer felt emotion rise once more, unbidden and overpowering.

“ _ You  _ let me fall,” He spat, voice wavering like a Lark’s, “ _ You  _ have  _ no right  _ to touch what you have tainted.”

His face was burning with an ailment he had never encountered- was Castiel unable to contain him? Was his vessel tearing just like Nick?

_ “No,”  _ the singing angelic voice offered in his mind, awakened from the bone jarring pain,  _ “It is called sadness.” _

He left before the humans could witness gemstones fall from his eyes.

  
  


The Morningstar had always felt cold, it was he who crafted the sparkling designs which fell from the skies. He had designed the crystals to resemble the wings of his brothers and sisters, glittering in the light of Lucifer’s own creation.

Lucifer found rage rearing, disguising the sharp fear and desperation of his mind. The cold was biting, stinging at his skin and leaving gooseflesh where it touched.

His blackened mangled feathers, littering the floor of the borrowed room looked  _ nothing _ like the crystalline shapes he had designed long ago.

  
  


He awoke at night, throwing his arms to the side and clicking his bones against the concrete wall.

His fingers scrabbled in the dark- the heavy pressing darkness, it was  _ always there.  _ Always  _ pressing,  _ and  _ suffocating- _

His hands scrambled against the cement, knocking frames down in the dark. 

His sudden rush of hysteria awoke Castiel, the younger scrambling to douse the burning inferno of panic and fear.

The dark was digging- dragging angel knives against his skin and  _ shredding  _ his Grace. Amara was shifting her claws deeper into his chest, tearing through muscle and sinew to taunt him over and over  _ ‘Where is he? Why won’t God answer you? Why won’t he come for his favored son?’ _

Lucifer’s throat hurt and his wings twitched feebly, his feathers fell out from his skin instead of thrumming the angel song.

The darkness was so  _ cold-  _ cold and pressing yet his arms touched open air-  _ too much room. _

He found the edge of the Cage, thick strong walls. Without hesitation he cracked his skull against the side, smashing again and again to dent the bars.

_ ‘Let me out! Let me out!’  _ He shrieked, Enochian falling from his vessel’s mouth as warm fluid spread across his face. His wings were rattling the ghastly rattle of seared flesh and weakened bones. So weak- unable to support him in flight, not enough room to even  _ stretch. _

_ “Lucifer!”  _ He heard a faint shouting, Grace pushing against his whirlwind of uncontrollable emotions,  _ “Brother!” _

He could shout until his screams ruptured the ear of nearby demons. Father wouldn’t answer. 

It was  _ so cold. _

He wanted  _ out. _

(And truly, he didn’t know why he had been imprisoned.)

  
  


Sam jolted awake the moment his door was knocked open. 

The light was switched on only seconds before Sam had a gun pointed at his brother’s forehead. He sighed in relief, blinking through the exhaustion and clicking the safety back on.

“Dean,” He grunted, clearing his throat and trying again, “what are you  _ doing-” _

“How do you  _ not  _ hear that?” Dean complained, and almost in answer a loud shriek echoed through the hallway.

“What-” Sam already sprang upright, sliding the gun into his waistband. 

They tore down the hallways, avoiding the turns of the corridors in the dim lighting of the bunker. There was only one possible source for the noise.

They found Chuck, grimacing outside the door to Lucifer’s room.

“Chuck!” Dean gasped out, breathing slightly heavier than Sam, “What-”

“I  _ may  _ have,” Chuck looked uncomfortable, “messed up.”

Dean looked speechless, before blinking. 

“Well, I’m not fond of the bag of feathered dicks, but that  _ is  _ Cas, so you better-”

“No!” Chuck blurted, shaking his head wildly, “I didn’t- I bound Lucifer’s Grace. Just enough so I knew he wouldn’t be able to hurt you.”

“So why is he throwin’ a fit?” Sam asked, far too tired to be dealing with the situation.

Almost in cue there was a muffled thud just on the other side of the wall, and the loud disconcerting sound of rattling bones.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, slamming his shoulder against the door. It held firm, until Chuck snapped and it vanished from ever having existed.

Dean hit the light switch, and only narrowly avoided something rancid from knocking him to the ground.

Sam shuffled in the room, keeping close to the walls to avoid the flailing mess.

Dean could barely comprehend what he was seeing. He had seen the shadows of Cas’ wings before, illuminated by holy lightning. Here, as tangible as a roasted chicken wing, the most decrepit collection of joints and appendages swung and spasmed from the back of a torn trenchcoat. They shook and folded, each sound cracking loudly like snapping ribs. They moved with the illusion of an injured spider trying to pull itself free from Lucifer’s back.

The best single limb was coated in dark skin, looking vacuum sealed to the gnarled bones, or resembling an emaciated abused parrot. Black feathers, a foot long, clung to puffy and charred flesh in patches. Quills were snapped and impaled, looking like a porcupine had attacked.

The other wings looked like the skin had been flayed, hanging in curled ribbons.

All that existed of one limb was a cracked bone stump the color of aged parchment.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, one hand covering his nose to try and filter the wretched stink, “Cas!”

Lucifer was shrieking something, trying hopelessly to reach the angelic whistles of his True Voice.

His face was bloody from where he had been smashing his skull against the concrete.

“Chuck!” Sam shouted, looking at where the shorter male looked solemnly at the hysterical angel.

“What’s he saying!” Dean shouted, ducking to avoid skeletal bones from hitting his arm.

Chuck swallowed, stepping into the room and snapping his fingers. Almost instantaneously Lucifer went slack, wings dropping and unfurling like a Crocosmia in bloom.

Sam slunk to the ground, chest heaving as the uncontrollable urge to hurl overcame him. He vomited, expelling yesterday's dinner. His stomach cramped as he retched again, and again.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, trying to avoid disrupting his sick brother, “Chuck, I don’t-”

“It’s my fault,” Chuck breathed, looking so  _ old  _ in that moment.Sam flinched violently in unspoken understanding.

“Sammy- what’s going on?” Dean asked, a growing sense of dread overcoming him.

“He- he was like that- in the cage,” Sam blinked wildly, as if in shock, “I thought I had imagined it.”

“I bound his Grace,” Chuck exhaled softly, reaching out to brush his hand along one burned wing. Lucifer relaxed at the touch, exhaling softly as he slipped into something more peaceful.

“He was shouting to me, to let him out,” Chuck almost whispered, “He was asking for my help.”

Dean’s jaw twitched, “Well he can play the pity card all he wants,” Dean seethed, “I’m  _ not  _ giving sympathy for the devil.”

Sam paused, “Yeah, same.” 

It sounded much less confident than he wanted it to.

 

When Sam drifted off to sleep, he could only remember the way angel’s sang, by rubbing their wings like crickets making stardust.

(He remembered that Lucifer couldn’t sing anymore. Michael sang enough sadness for all of them.)


End file.
